Zelda wasn’t sure it would pass muster, but she did have her NCA pass, and it did have the words ‘National Crime Agency’ printed on it, along with an impressive logo, insignia and her photograph.
‘NCA?’ said Faye. ‘That’s the British FBI, isn’t it?’
‘Some newspapers call us that.’
‘It must be important, then. But I still don’t know what you’re talking about. This man in the picture isn’t called Phil Keane. His name is Hugh Foley. And, yes, we used to go out together, but not for a while now.’
It was just after five o’clock when Annie arrived at the wood-panelled facade of Le Coq d’Or. Like Banks, she had never eaten there. The restaurant didn’t open until six, so she knocked at the front door and an elegant young woman in a black turtleneck sweater and matching black slacks answered. When Annie introduced herself, the woman said she was Florence and had been expecting someone from the police. She excused herself for a moment, then she returned, carrying a pack of cigarettes, came outside and closed the door behind her. It was a mild evening, and she seemed comfortable enough without a jacket.
‘Let’s just go down here,’ she said, and led Annie a few yards towards York Road, beyond which the limestone castle was visible, high on its hill against a backdrop of blue sky. They stood outside a closed antiquarian bookshop with a window display of beautiful old maps. ‘I’m dying for a fag,’ Florence went on, ‘and Marcel doesn’t like me smoking right outside the restaurant, even when it’s closed. Says it looks bad. I suppose he’s right, really.’ She smiled nervously, pulled a Rothmans from her packet and lit it with a green Bic. She took a deep drag and let out the smoke slowly. ‘So what did you want to know?’
‘About Sunday night.’
‘Yes.’
‘I understand a man called Connor Clive Blaydon was dining with Tommy and Timmy, the Kerrigan brothers.’
Florence puffed on her cigarette and nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Do you remember what time they left?’
‘It was just after eleven o’clock. We’d been closed officially for ages, and they were the only ones left, but... well... what can you do?’
‘It does seem rather inconsiderate.’
Florence shrugged. ‘A customer’s a customer.’
‘Big spenders?’
She nodded.
‘And generous tippers?’
‘Generous enough to make it worthwhile staying late. After all, I’ve got nowhere to go except my lonely little flat.’ She laughed dismissively at herself. ‘It’s not as if I haven’t given Marcel every opportunity, but he’s not interested. And his real name’s not Marcel, it’s Roland.’
Annie laughed. ‘Anyone else still there?’
‘By then? Only the kitchen staff. They’ve got a lot of cleaning up to do at the end of a service. Marcel’s a real stickler about cleanliness and hygiene. You have to be if you want Michelin stars.’
‘When the party left, did you see where they went?’
‘They all got into Mr Blaydon’s car.’
‘It was parked outside?’
‘Yes. I opened the restaurant door for them and saw them get into it. A nice black Mercedes. They were all a bit tipsy by then.’
‘What about earlier? Was the car outside all evening?’
‘Oh, no. They couldn’t possibly park there. He had to back out as it was. You can see how the street narrows towards York Road.’
Annie looked in the direction Florence was pointing and saw it was true. It was as Banks had told her.
‘So how did he know what time to turn up?’
‘Mr Blaydon used his mobile to call the driver when they wanted to leave.’
‘And you’re sure the car wasn’t already waiting outside?’
‘Well, I managed to sneak out for a smoke around nine-thirty, just after Marcel had gone home, when the evening’s service was officially finished, and it certainly wasn’t there then.’
‘Was Mr Blaydon in the restaurant all evening, all that time between seven-thirty and eleven?’
‘Yes. Wait a minute. He got a call on his mobile and went outside to answer it.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Around ten.’
‘How long was he gone?’
‘I don’t know. Not long. Five minutes. Ten at the most.’
‘And you’ve no idea who called him?’
‘No.’
‘How did he react to the call?’
‘He didn’t, really. He just answered it and went outside.’
‘How did he seem? Was he upset? Overjoyed?’
‘He didn’t react either way. Just like it was some normal business matter or something. I was passing the table, and I heard him tell the others he’d be back in a couple of minutes.’
‘What about the Kerrigans? Did either of them leave the restaurant at all?’
‘No. They used the toilet once or twice — they had quite a lot to drink — but that’s all. The rest of the time they stayed at the table.’
‘What was the mood like?’
‘Mood?’
‘Yes. The dinner. Were they festive, celebrating, businesslike, laughing, arguing...?’
‘Oh, I see. Well, mostly they seemed in pretty good spirits. There were a few toasts — two bottles of Veuve Clicquot. They were certainly quieter earlier in the evening, when there were other diners present. I suppose they let their hair down a bit when they were the only ones left.’
‘In what way?’
‘You know, raised their voices a bit, that sort of thing.’
‘Did you hear what they were talking about?’
Florence almost choked on her cigarette. ‘I make it a point not to overhear conversations in the restaurant. Marcel wouldn’t approve of my eavesdropping.’
‘But surely you can’t help it now and then? Even if it’s just a word or two.’
Florence flicked ash from her cigarette. ‘There’s always plenty of other stuff to do.’
A young couple walked by hand in hand and Florence smiled at them.
‘Were they just laughing a lot or talking business?’ Annie asked.
‘Bit of both, really. There was some laughter, especially later, after the sweets and Cognac, but mostly I think they must have been talking business, maybe celebrating a success of some sort.’
‘But you don’t know what?’
Florence looked around. Annie followed her gaze back towards the restaurant. The street was empty.
‘They did raise their voices once, just after the last of the other diners had gone.’
‘Who spoke? What did he say? Do you know what it was about?’
‘No. But I think I heard one of them...’ She glanced around her again. ‘It was one of those brothers, the creepy one with the milky eye.’
‘Tommy Kerrigan?’
‘Right. He shouted something about a “fucking Albanian” or something like that.’ She dropped her cigarette and stamped it out in the gutter. ‘You won’t do me for littering, will you?’
Annie shook her head. ‘Are you sure that’s what he said? About the Albanian?’
Florence shrugged. ‘It’s what I thought he said. He was definitely angry, though. His brother had to calm him down. You could tell he was ready to hurt someone.’
‘Hurt who?’
‘Anyone. I’ve seen him like that before. When he gets like that it doesn’t matter. It could easily have been me if I hadn’t made myself scarce. They’re pigs, those two.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t hear anything else?’
‘There was quite a bit of swearing. And the other brother called me a slut.’
‘To your face?’
‘No. I was in the kitchen, but I heard him. He said, “Let’s tell the slut to bring our bill”.’
‘Did he give you a hard time when you appeared?’
Florence blushed. ‘No, not really. Just the usual. “Come home with me, love, and I’ll give you something to smile about.” That sort of thing. And he kept calling me “sugar tits”.’